Chapter 8: The Fixer’s Offer (Silas POV)

I’m back in the loft after the record shop, Riley’s words about Cole’s journal spinning in my head. Nico’s here too, fresh from seeing Lena, sitting on the mattress with his head in his hands. The air’s thick, heavy with everything piling up. My gear’s still by the door, the dead laptop on the table, and that creepy message—“You’ll see me when—”still haunts me. Nico looks up, eyes tired. “Lena didn’t do it,” he says, voice flat. “But she hinted at someone else, someone from my past.” I nod, slow, thinking of Cole, the crash, secrets I didn’t know. “Same here,” I say. “Riley mentioned stuff about Cole. A journal, missing now.”

We’re quiet, stuck, when someone knocks on the door. Hard, sharp knocks, not friendly. I glance at Nico, and he tenses, sitting up straight. “Who’s that?” he asks, low. I shrug, heart thumping, and walk over. I open the door a crack, and there’s this guy—tall, skinny, dark coat, eyes sharp like he’s sizing me up. “Silas Reed?” he says, voice smooth but cold. I nod, cautious. “Yeah. Who are you?” He pushes past me, steps inside without asking. “Call me Fix,” he says, glancing around. “I fix problems. Heard you’ve got a big one.”

Nico stands, fists clenched. “How’d you find us?” he asks, voice tight. Fix smirks, small and quick. “Word gets around. Video scandals, blackmail, you’re loud right now.” My stomach twists. “What do you want?” I say, stepping between him and Nico. He pulls a chair from the corner, sits like he owns the place. “I can help,” he says. “Dismantle whoever’s doing this. Clean it up.” I stare at him, not trusting it. “Why us?” I ask. He leans back. “I like a challenge. And you’re desperate.”

Nico crosses his arms. “What’s the catch?” he says, sharp. Fix’s eyes flick to him, then back to me. “There’s a price,” he says, calm. “I don’t work cheap, and it’s not just cash.” I frown, leaning on the wall. “What then?” I ask. He pulls a phone from his pocket, taps it, shows us a screen—names, dates, stuff I don’t get. “I need you to do something,” he says. “A job. Dangerous, messy. You help me, I bury your blackmailer.” My chest goes cold. “What kind of job?” I say, voice low.

He puts the phone away, leans forward. “There’s a guy,” he says. “Owes me. You get him to talk, I get what I need, and your problem’s gone.” Nico shakes his head. “That’s it? Sounds too easy.” Fix laughs, short and dry. “It’s not. He’s tough, connected. Might get ugly.” I feel sick, thinking of Cole, of secrets already out of control. “We’re not thugs,” I say, firm. Fix shrugs. “You’re not safe either. Your call.”

I look at Nico, and he’s staring at the floor, jaw tight. “This could fix it,” I say, quiet, testing him. “Get us out.” He looks up, eyes dark. “Or make it worse,” he says. “My name’s already trash. This could sink me for good.” I get that, feel it deep. His career’s hanging by a thread, and I’m the one who wants to keep us alive, keep what we’ve got. “We’re out of moves,” I say, softer. “This might be it.”

Fix watches us, calm, like he’s got all night. “You’re in deep,” he says. “Video’s just the start. They’ve got more, stuff you don’t want out.” My mind flashes to Cole’s journal, Riley’s warning, and I wonder if he knows that too. “What stuff?” I ask, stepping closer. He smirks again. “Enough to ruin you both. I can stop it, but you’ve got to play.” Nico’s voice cuts in. “Play how?” he asks, sharp. Fix looks at him. “Get dirty. Break some rules. You’re not clean anyway.”

I pace, hands in my hair, torn up inside. I want this over—protect Nico, protect us, keep Cole’s ghost quiet. But this? It’s wrong, feels like a line we can’t uncross. “We need time,” I say, stopping to face him. Fix shakes his head. “No time. Yes or no, now.” Nico steps up beside me. “What if we say no?” he asks, voice steady. Fix stands, slow. “Then you’re on your own. Good luck.” My heart’s racing, and I hate this, hate him, hate the choice.

“We could do it,” I say to Nico, low. “End this fast.” He glares at me. “And lose everything else? I’m already a joke.” I grab his arm, desperate. “We’re losing anyway! This could save us.” He pulls away, shaking his head. “Or damn us,” he says, quiet. I turn to Fix. “What’s the guy got?” I ask, needing more. He steps closer, voice dropping. “Info I want. You get it, I’ll wipe your slate. All of it.” I swallow hard, picturing our lives free, but the cost twists my gut.

Nico’s watching me, and I see the fight in him—his image, his pride, all he’s built. “I can’t,” he says, soft. “Not like this.” I want to argue, push, but I feel it too—the weight of going dark. Fix nods, like he expected it. “Your loss,” he says, turning for the door. “Wait,” I say, loud, stopping him. “Tell us the rest. What’s the full deal?” He pauses, looks back, smirks one last time. “It’s big,” he says, leaning in close. “Bigger than you think.”

Then he’s gone, slipping out fast, leaving the door creaking shut. I blink, stunned, and see it—a sealed envelope on the chair where he sat. Nico spots it too, grabs it quick. “What’s this?” he asks, voice shaky. I take it from him, feel the weight, the paper cool in my hands. “He left it,” I say, staring at the blank front. No writing, just sealed tight. My fingers itch to rip it open, but my gut says wait. What’s inside? What’s it mean? We’re left hanging, the loft silent, that envelope a mystery we can’t touch yet.